


bloody sunrise

by manticoremoons



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, War, Werewolf Culture, Werewolves, he just thinks her wolf is magnificent, jace is not a furry, when I say EXPLICIT i mean it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9842909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manticoremoons/pseuds/manticoremoons
Summary: In which Jace is a cocky idiot (but Maia still kinda likes him).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [Shadowhunters Free-for-all Ficathon Round 2](http://ladygawain.livejournal.com/83816.html) . Several prompts, most of them my own because I needed these two like a fire burning and no one was giving it to me. 
> 
> A cameo from our favourite warlock because how could I not. 
> 
> I haven't written about werewolves in a long time. I've culled some of my favourite tropes from different 'verses and added some of my own when it comes to characterising how Maia experiences shifting and all of that as well as bits of shadow world culture. Jace is NOT a furry, he just knows magnificence when he sees it and he's drawn to it. The extracts from _Wide Sargasso Sea_ are a bit tongue-in-cheek. For those who haven't read it it, Jean Rhys' novel is a post-colonial 'answer' prequel to the book we see Maia reading in several scenes this season, _Jane Eyre_. I've always preferred the former, of course, because postmodernity is my jam.
> 
> Not beta read, all mistakes are mine. The characters, however, are not.

# 

 

 

# I.

“Blot out the moon,  
Pull down the stars.  
Love in the dark, for we're for the dark  
So soon, so soon.”  
**― Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea**

 

 

“Sorry you got stuck patrolling with me. I’m sure you would’ve liked to be paired with Red or someone else instead.”

Maia sniffed at the air, olfactory receptors tingling with the harsh salt coming off the ocean a few blocks east, the glue and grit from the row of warehouses to their left, filled with all sorts of machinery gathering nothing but rust and dust. The rot-stench of piles and piles of sweaty trash dumped this side of the city where pretty much no one could see or choke on the smell of it—no one who mattered at least. And underneath all that, was _him_.

She wasn’t sure when, where or how Jace Wayland’s scent had become familiar—or even remotely _tolerable_. Usually, she could pick up the cocky in him from a mile away and the rank pushiness of his whole _aura_ made her teeth stand on edge. But his scent—his true one, lay underneath all that stinky dumb bravado, a sharp earthy smell that reminded her of crashing through the woods on a full moon, the _wolf_ howling at everything with the freedom of it, and the salty tang of demon ichor that clung to most shadowhunters. He was the kind of person who had _J-A-C-K-A-S-S_  written across his forehead in big pheromonic letters but that smell of his was—

It was nice.

Not that she’d ever tell him.

“One downworlder, one shadowhunter was always the pair-up plan and there’s no way I’d pick Simon as my partner,” Jace said, his tone sardonic as ever.

Maia rolled her eyes and came to Simon’s defence, “Hey, don’t underestimate Simon—he’s a smart guy.”

“He’s a _motor mouth_ with the attention span of a fruit fly. I’d spend half the night making sure he doesn’t accidentally stake himself on a stray piece of wood or talk so much Valentine himself’d show up to shut him up.”

It was a mean thing to say, Maia thought, but not untrue. She liked Simon a lot, between _Blade Runner_ marathons and game nights; she had come to call him a friend. Hell, at one time, she had even thought there would be something more between them. She’d nixed that idea real quick when she noticed he was in love with his childhood best friend. The same girl Jace was apparently in love with who _also_ happened to be his sister, ironically. _Was it ironic? It was something, that’s for sure._ Either way, the two of them were head-over-ass into Red as if she was the only girl in town, and Maia was _not_ in the business of getting in the middle of those kinds drama-filled love polygons. The _wolf_ was possessive enough without having to wrangle over sex and love with a bunch of messy people.

Whatever the case, Simon wasn’t the first person she would pick to watch her back in a fight so she let Jace’s dismissal go.

That was the whole point of this exercise, courtesy of Luke and Magnus’ strategy meeting a couple of weeks ago. Since the Clave did not give a shit about this whole Valentine-destroying-the-world thing, downworlders and a small crew of shadowhunters were going all guerrilla alliance—joining forces to fight the big bad together. Part of that, their unofficial leaders had decided, would mean learning to fight side-by-side. Training together, learning each other (and, Maia suspected, peeling away years of ingrained contempt and prejudice through familiarity and shared commitment). Valentine may have had demons and devils on his side but he was counting on a divided shadow world, way too easy to conquer.

Maia had nodded off a few times during Luke’s rallying pitch to the Pack that sweltering night at the Jade Wolf, every duck-sauce-sticky table teeming with antsy _wolves,_ all tearing at the fragile human skin holding them captive.

 _We cannot let Valentine be right; we need to be better than him. We must unite the shadow world, blah blah; take a stand against the greatest evil we will ever face and let them hear us howl, &c_.

It had all been very _Ultimate Captain America #4_ without the hot blue and red tights. Not many had bought it, in the end. Shaking their heads, spitting on the ground in disgust at the thought of fighting alongside hunters, and even worse, _vampires_ for some noble cause.

Nevertheless, Maia had been one of the few pack members who had stayed behind at the end. She wasn’t usually the sort of person to sign up to things but _it was Luke_. That had settled the matter for her even before he’d finished his little speech.

“So when’re you gonna—you know—do your wolf-out thing?” Jace’s voice interrupted her meandering thoughts.

She swivelled to look at him with a raised brow. “My ‘wolf-out’ thing? Really? All those years of shadowhunter schooling and that’s what they taught you about werewolves?”

He had his blade out—a shiny thing with marks that winked silver and gold in the dark. It was big, too, definitely seemed unwieldy and like he was totally over-compensating for something.

Shrugging, Jace said with that annoyingly ever-present smirk of his, “They also taught us that wolves have a huge shedding problem, and that you’ve got a thing for humping trees and table legs. That true?”

He was joking, of course. There was a twinkle in his eye, which could just be the reflection off his phallic symbol of a sword. But she’d known him long enough already to be able to tell. It was strange how a few weeks could feel like a lifetime in a time of war.

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to handle me turning in front of you, shadowhunter. Wouldn’t want to send you screaming for your mommy at the sight of my claws.”

“My mother’s dead.” He bit out the words and turned his head away, his stubbly jaw clenched. Everything about him screamed _hands off, and do not look at me_. _Do not dare pity me._ A vibe she could easily relate to.

So she said simply, “Mine too.”

Neither of them looked at each other then or said anything at all, as they turned to the road ahead and kept walking. What could they say? _I’m sorry, that’s too bad, life sucks_ —all stating the obvious. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore a mile away was enough of an acknowledgement.

Minutes of mostly comfortable silence later, Jace asked, sincerely curious this time: “Does it hurt?”

“What, the _Change_?” Maia tossed her curly fringe out of her eyes—she should’ve brought a scrunchie with her for this outing, even if she’d lose it after letting the _wolf_ free, if it came to that tonight.

“Yeah.” His voice drifted somewhat to the left of her, three or so steps behind. They had fallen into this formation naturally, Maia taking the lead with her superior nose and Jace bringing up the rear with his enhanced shadowhunter sight and his weapons for back up.

She thought about his question, slowing down to a saunter.

The first _Change_ had been the strangest mix of excruciating pain—as every bone in her body broke and ground itself down, re-forming anew into a sleeker, stronger form—and pure, unadulterated ecstasy. (Maia had tried E a few times as a human and _after_ , and not even that kind of effervescent drug-induced high could compare.)

Not to get metaphysical but _The Wolf_ was just not something you could put into words for the simple reason that humans didn’t have language for it, for that feeling. It wasn’t like flying, soaring, or any of that clichéd crap.

It was just—her truest self. That’s what she was when she let her _wolf_ come out. Reality boiled down to the most basic needs—hunger and survival, the thirst for something living and full of meat and fresh blood to sink your teeth into, the need for a fight, a long run until the sun came up or some other way to expend all the incredible energy skittering in your veins like you’d got pumped up full of adrenaline.

Most wolves, if they hadn’t learned to control themselves (or didn’t care to), took that energy out with a good old fight or a good old fuck, or both. And this was after finding a meal.

Maia had learned early to reign her impulses in for the most part. To retain some level of consciousness, it was easier outside of the full moon and less easy to do so the closer you got to it. Even now, days into the waning moon, the energy from her last _Big_ _Change_ fizzled in her blood like a hangover. She’d eaten well on the last one too, a deer in the woods followed by a squirrel.

The sex, not so much, not since…. _Not since Gretel_. She quickly slammed the door on that thought. Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, she’d wallow some more for her fallen friend and pack-mate.

For the most part, she could handle all the things that came with turning nowadays—a far cry from the weeping girl Luke had found bruised and broken outside a high school all those years ago.

“Yeah it hurts,” she responded to Jace after too many minutes. “Every single time.” She bit her lower lip. “But it feels good too.”

“Good? How?” He had caught up to her now. She could feel his inquisitiveness pushing into her, nudging at the _wolf_ even. It wasn’t surprising given how little other shadow-kind knew about wolves.

“I couldn’t put it into words, shadowhunter—but trust me, you’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Wait, not even like— _good_ sex?”

Which was… inappropriate, wasn’t it? Trading insults was their _thing_ —not flirting. She could tell that he was the type to flirt (badly) with the nearest tree stump so she played along.

“Oh, not even _great_ sex, Blondie. Even five orgasms, _in a row,_ doesn’t quite get there. I’d say you should try it but you can’t, strictly a wolf privilege. The closest you could probably get is sex _with_ a werewolf but that might kill you.”

“Why is that—I might get mauled mid-bang?”

“Ugh, no. We’re just that good—you wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

“Huh,” he grunted, clearly sceptical but filing the information away in that terrible head of his. “I’ll have to remember that.”

 

 

 

# II.

“But they left their treasure, gold and more gold. Some of it is found - but the finders never tell, because you see they’d only get one-third then: that’s the law of treasure. They want it all, so never speak of it.”  
**― Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea**

 

 

The next patrol they had together was a couple of weeks later.

This time they hit jackpot early in: Luke had them chasing three rogue circle members through Rockefeller State Park, which had been a pain in the ass to get to but it was for The Cause and all that. So Maia couldn’t complain too much.

The moon, new and barely visible, did not do much for light. The forest towered around them, inky black pines and tangled beech branches, brooding elms, thick underbrush at their feet and the smell of damp earth, a little fetid after the last summer rains.

The full moon was a long while away but Maia felt thoroughly in her element, leaping over gnarled roots and lichen-stained rocks, the spring of the _wolf_ in her limbs. Jace wasn’t far behind—which surprised her some. She’d pegged him for a city boy but he had adjusted to the environment with ease. Then again, he was a shadowhunter; they probably trained to be able to do this sort of thing without breaking a sweat.

Their quarries were not far ahead but they were moving fast. Way too fast for her to catch up on in human form so she came to a sudden stop, barely winded.

Jace stopped beside her, air rustling out of his lungs, “You all right?”

“I’m fine, pretty boy. I have an idea though.”

“Shoot, then,” he said, brusque with the urgency of the mission. He didn’t pay any mind to the compliment (possibly, because she’d said ‘pretty’ like it was a bit of an insult). This was a glimpse of the professional shadowhunter in him—the one she’d asked for help all those weeks ago. Everything about him seemed sharper and focused, much like the blade he wielded. The gold in his eyes seemed to stand out even in the dim twilight of the forest and it struck her, momentarily, that he was really rather beautiful.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the stray thought, she laid out her plan. “I’ll shift, and run up ahead, loop back so we can catch them from two directions and use the element of surprise?”

“You sure you can get there fast enough? I don’t want to lose them.”

Bristling, she snapped back. “You have any idea how fast a wolf can run in comparison to a measly human?”

He opened his mouth but she held up her hand to stop whatever dumb comeback he had.

“Try not to be too slow—I’d hate to have to take out the bad guys all by myself.”

And then she closed her eyes and unlatched herself. It was the best way to describe it, like throwing open a metaphorical door to the _Self_ within and yelling, _Have at it_.

She grunted at the first loud crack of her shoulder bone, the sharp burst of pain followed by the warm rippling rapture. _Soon_.

Her neck convulsed, twisting left and right and left again, a snarl slipping out of her mouth as her teeth began to elongate, bursting through the delicate flesh inside her mouth. She snapped her jaw, testing the loudness of teeth grinding on teeth in the quiet of the forest—quiet except for the only other _person_ with her. A _person_ who stood frozen and shocked.

She could not be bothered with _it_. The joy of the _Change_ taking up all of her attention. There was no sense of modesty in the _Change_ (or outside of it really) as her clothes tore off her body, the cool air of the night hitting her skin like a friendly caress.

 _Soon_.

She dropped to her haunches, fingernails curling out into black claws, fur sprouting across her knuckles, and up her arms, across her neck, as she arched her back—a growl spilling out of her mouth as her body came into _being_ , as power rippled through her, electric.

 _She_ threw her head up at the moon, the fingernail sliver of it hidden beyond the trees and clouds up above, but still. _She_ called to it. The sound ripping out of _her_ , as primal a _hello_ as you can imagine.

 _Now_.

The meat—shaking _her_ head—the _man_ in front of _her_ let out a breath of air. _She_ looked at _it_ — _him_. His scent drifted into _her_ snout, _she_ lapped at the air to taste it. He smelled… delicious. _She_ stepped forward to nuzzle into the muscular leg nearest to _her_ , something sweet yet acidic to him, _she_ liked it; _she_ wanted to sink _her_ teeth into it and _rip_.

Fingers cool, soft and fragile with the thrum of blood underneath brushed against _her_ ears and _she_ leaned up into them.

It— _he_ gasped. The audible _ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta-ta_ of his heartbeat—fear roiled out of him, delicious and thick, acrid stink. But not just that. 

 _She_ raised _her_ head, drawing to _her_ full height so _she_ hit him at his waist and he was watching. Eyes wide, pupils dilated: _shock_. Pulse beating furiously at his neck, nostrils flared: _fear_. But it was his mouth, full, pink, and wet as his tongue snuck out to lick it: _want_.

The _wolf_ wagged _her_ tail, a purring rumble deep in _her_ gut—and it was that, more than anything that brought conscious thought back to Maia.

 _She_ let out a whine and hopped away.

It made a surprised sound. _He, not ‘it’._ Him _. Jace_.

His name was _Jace_. And they had a mission. To complete.

 _She_ cocked _her_ head. He nodded at the unasked question.

Then _she_ was off.

***

Jace did not want to know what it said about him that he got hard watching a woman change into a wolf.  It was the kind of thing that called for one of those Mundie head-shrink doctors Clary sometimes talked about.

Yet here he was, adjusting his cock in his pants and doing everything short of imagining Robert Lightwood naked to get rid of the problem. He started running in the direction the wolf— _Maia_ —had taken, hoping his erection would calm down somewhere along the way.

 _Maia_. The wolf. _Wow_.

He had never really thought about it. Werewolves being _hot_. He’d been with a few Seelies in his time, made out with a vampire or two, as well. Werewolves tended to stick with their own when it came to socialising so he had not had much opportunity.

His Father— _Valentine_ —had taught him to see werewolves and vampires as the lowest of the low in the Downworld. Warlocks and Seelies, they at least had a heritage to claim and the power to back it up. Vampires and werewolves were merely the results of an _infection_ that took hold. They were nothing but slaves to their impulses, the thirst for blood or flesh, one species nothing but glorified leeches, the other overgrown mutts.

But, Jace was learning that about this, along with so many other things, Valentine had been wrong. Hell, other shadowhunters were wrong too. So many lies and lessons to disentangle.

Watching Maia turn, the way her body contorted and transformed right before his eyes, from a beautiful woman—he would _never_ tell her that to her face, of course. But he hadn’t been able to stop his eyes from following the scant light reflecting off her breasts and down that tapered waist and the delicate shadowy curve of her hips—to an equally beautiful, but in a different way … monster?

There had been a raw sort of poetry to it, a music even—and he understood music. Like getting lost in Shostakovich or Saint-Saëns. It had looked painful, like she had said. But he’d seen the way her eyes had glowed almost neon-green, the way her body writhed, wild and uninhibited, the way she’d rubbed herself against him in wolf form. The sense that he had been allowed to glimpse something he shouldn’t, something arcane and private, and that in doing so, he’d seen sides of her she’d never allow a non-wolf to witness. Even less, a shadowhunter.

He bit his lip at the memory of the fear he had felt, borne out of the knowledge that she could rip his throat out if she wanted.

Jace had known plenty of monsters in his time; he had killed them too. None of them made him feel like this. Awed, and stupid, and clumsy, and inexplicably horny.

It was highly confusing.

The panicked scream yanked him out of his thoughts, and he sped up, seraph blade drawn.

He leapt into a clearing to find the three circle members, one of them clutching their thigh, clearly torn through with blood gushing out almost comically. The other two had their blades out and were approaching Maia, who was crouched low, ears pointed and a deadly growl coming out of her blood-stained wolf’s mouth.

“Hey assholes,” he called out. “Room for one more in this little party?”

“You!” one of the circle members, a muscular guy with a disturbing bald patch that Jace recognised from his time on the ship, spat.

Jace shrugged and bared his teeth in the kind of grin that generally got people riled up. “Missed me?”

Baldie rushed towards him with a muted roar. Jace was ready for him, deflecting the first parry, and ducking beneath the second.

The heat of the battle thrummed through Jace’s limbs, loosening him up, the edge of his arousal from earlier merging into a more aggressive thirst for violence. Whether he had demon blood or angel’s running through his veins, or both, this sensation was familiar and welcome: the thrill of the fight, the foretaste of winning.

He shot a quick glance at Maia, who was doing a good job of playing with her food. Scooting this way and that, forcing the fallen shadowhunters to run in circles in their attempts to catch her with their blades but she was too fast. Every few seconds she would slip beneath their harried defences to nip at a stray limb or scratch, leaving welts of blood leaking through their clothes. Jace grinned at the sight. She was enjoying this as much as he was.

At the shift of air near his face, Jace tumbled back into a somersault, just barely missing a blade stabbing him in the skull because he’d been so distracted staring at his companion. _Rookie mistake._ He swivelled around and aimed a sharp riposte at Baldie, putting all of his strength into it. An injection of speed in his movements allowed him to herd Baldie back several yards until he had him against a tree. Hooking his blade under Baldie’s fighting arm, Jace managed to disarm him and with one diagonal slash across his torso, his opponent was sliding to the ground, the coppery reek of his blood and guts spattering at their feet.

_God, he loved this._

A wounded whine brought his attention back to the remaining pair. And his body was moving before he consciously thought about what he was seeing: Maia crouched low, bleeding from her furry shoulder as one of the endarkened, a blonde woman with a lattice of old vicious-looking scars on her cheek, prepared to deal a death blow. Jace sprang forward, twisting his body like a gymnast, sword-arm outstretched as he brought his foot down on her arm. Maia skipped out of harm’s way, and slipped behind Jace, wolf-lips open in a vicious snarl, teeth glimmering a dull red in the dark.

Jace crouched, his sword-free arm hovering protectively over Maia’s flank while he glared at the remaining two. “Thought you said something about killing all the bad guys’ without me?”

Maia made a breathy sound that was like a snicker, _You—too—slow, blondie, but I saved—some fun for you_. It was strange, he didn’t _hear_ the words, per se, more like felt them emanating from the air around and inside him, which was—weird. He’d had no idea that wolves could, what? Project coherent thoughts or words in their changed form; that certainly wasn’t information you’d find in the _Shadowhunter’s Codex_.

Jace laughed aloud, the sound of it absurdly light and manic in the moment.

“Look at you,” the scarred shadowhunter said with a sneer. “Valentine’s son fighting alongside a miserable hell-beast. No wonder he wants you dead.”

The other one, a man who had a chiseled goatee and a spider web tattoo along the skin of his neck, and who was trying to staunch the blood flow from his wounded thigh, snorted in disgust, “He’s _weak_. Like all of them. He will be destroyed just like the rest of this traitorous filth when Valentine ascends to power.”

Jace dropped his sword arm and huffed, “Is this the part where you guys deliver the devoted-to-the-evil-villain speech? Because if so, can we skip that shit—and get to the fun?”

The woman shrieked in anger and came at them, two daggers in her hands. Jace went low, slashing at her feet, while Maia sprang high; her serrated jaws sank into the woman’s shoulder, ripping a hunk of flesh out. The wet tearing of it was awful to hear but brutally satisfying. Jace watched as the woman fell to her knees and slumped to the ground, eyes vacant, the gouged-out hole in her shoulder spurting blood like a fountain.

Maia loped back and spat out the human meat as if it just wasn’t worth the trouble of eating. She bared her teeth, a gruesome grin that Jace responded to in kind and then they both turned to their remaining adversary.

The goateed man seemed emboldened now that he was the last one standing, two seraph blades gripped in his hands. Jace lunged toward him full tilt.

He was good—better than good, especially for someone with an open injury. There was no telling what desperation could do to a person, bringing all the battle-frenzy to the fore at the last moment. Jace was using all of his energy to hold him off, parrying and ducking, swivelling and riposting until he felt himself become a machine, responding to each blow instinctively. Not so much the thrill of the hunt but the thirst for survival driving him now.

Maia hung back; he could hear her growling behind him, a grisly sound.

Jace wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly he found himself on the back-foot. A rare enough occurrence that it caught him by surprise. Goatee Guy swiped his blade out of his hands, leaving him weapon-less and then rushed him into a rocky mound. Jace tripped and fell right on his ass, dodging quickly to the right before he got shish-kebabed by two blades. He cursed when one of those blades slashed him on the arm, hissing in pain at the sting. Grappling around for a weapon—dirt, a pebble, anything, and came up empty.

 _Shit_.

Goatee raised both his arms, a smug grin on his face, as he got ready to deliver a deathblow. “I was right—you _are_ weak and pathetic—wait till I tell your father of this—.”

Before he could finish his unnecessary monologue, a harsh bark cut through the air and Maia was leaping over Jace’s head, catching the fool in the chest and toppling him to the ground.

She spared no mercy, her maw closing over his face and mauling the skin off, leaving a mess of blood and torn flesh. Whatever last words the fallen shadowhunter had to say ended on a wet gurgle. She clawed at his throat for good measure, all the way down to his lower abdomen. The blood sprayed out bright scarlet, and stained the dull green t-shirt the endarkened was wearing like spilt paint.

He was dead.

 _Deader_ than dead, to put a fine point on it.

Maia left the steaming body on the ground and cantered towards him, favouring her left foreleg where she’d been cut.

Jace came up on his elbows, a smile playing on his lips.

“Nice work, wolf-girl.”

Maia made a husky whining sound that could have been a laugh before she came to a stop beside him. _I—save your skin, blondie, you welcome_.

“I saved your furry ass first, if I remember right,” he reminded her on a pained groan, the cut in his arm twinged as he sat up, slipping his jacket off his shoulder to see the damage.

_We—even then?_

“I don’t know,” Jace said, his brow arching high on his forehead. “Maybe you owe me a drink or two for my heroism.”

She snorted, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as if she was pulling a face at him.

Then she sidled in close, and Jace could smell the metallic blood matted and glossy in her fur, the ripe wolverine fragrance of her along with it. And gently, her tongue lapped at the skin on his forearm, cleaning the blood off on a rough-sinuous slide that made Jace react almost immediately, his cock hardening.

_Raziel, fuck. What the hell was wrong with him?_

She rubbed her wet snout against the wound that was already knitting itself closed—apparently, wolf saliva had insane healing properties. Yet another strength Jace had never heard about.

Jace trembled, like a dumb damsel from a bad romance novel (which he certainly did _not_ read in his downtime). All his post-hunt adrenaline sparking at his nerve-endings like tiny electric shocks. He met her lupine gaze, her emerald-flame pupils gleamed in the dark. He wanted to sink into them.

He raised his hand, slowly so as not to seem threatening, and placed it on the back of her neck. The fur there was a little less bloody, but thick and lustrous, a rich sable colour. He ran his fingers through it, tender as he could manage. She tilted into his side, her eyelids blinking shut for a moment, a gruff rumble went through her wolf’s body—

His phone beeped, loud and insistent.

She slunk a little ways off so Jace could check the message and respond.

 

**Luke: all set?**

_Jace: yes, we got them._

**Luke: good. Sending in a crew for body retrieval. Send me location.**

 

Jace did as asked and tucked his phone back into his jeans.

He looked up and froze, mouth falling open.

Because Maia was no longer in wolf form. Instead, she was standing there. Naked.

Jace gulped. Whatever little brain capacity he was capable of after a battle fled.

She turned around, completely unruffled by the fact that she was naked and he was staring at her like a loser porn-fiend.

Her body was lean and strong, muscles curving her calves and arms. She was covered in smears of mud and clumps of grass clung to her hair and knees. There was also blood, drying already, on her hands and feet, stark maroon smudges up her ribs and breasts, which were pearl-drop perfect, her nipples plumped up in the night air. Her neck was splattered with guts and muck, too, her old bite scars standing out livid and ruddy pink against her throat. Her lips and chin were painted a garish red and she didn’t seem concerned at all that she was covered in several people’s entrails. He couldn’t look at her without seeing the predator, graceful and ruthless. Monstrous, even.

She shouldn’t have been beautiful, then. But she was.

“You just gonna sit there and stare at me or are we gonna go, shadowhunter?”

Jace blinked. A blush burning its way along his cheeks and neck at her dry tone. He wasn’t some newbie. He _had_ seen naked chicks before. Why he was acting like an idiot was beyond him.

_But this wasn’t just some chick, was it?_

He lurched to his feet, shrugging out of his jacket and holding it out to her. “Here,” he said. His voice gruff with something he did not really want to acknowledge right now for fear he’d do something stupid like try to kiss her.

She took the clothing wordlessly, and slipped it on, not a trace of shyness as she did so. They could have been standing at a taco stand during the day for all the awkwardness she showed at being naked in front of him.

He wished he could be just as nonchalant. But apparently, one look and he was rendered useless.

When she was finally covered, they set off. Although there was nothing decent about it.  The jacket didn’t do much to conceal her, the burnished skin at her torso still visible, and even the trimmed hair between her legs, that looked soft and delicate—at odds with the blood on her hands. Her legs still bare, as were the tops of her thighs, and when she started to walk off, even the curve of her ass was visible.

 _Shit_.

Jace was not a praying man but he suddenly found himself prepared to fall on his knees and beg. For deliverance or a chance to _taste_ , just a little, he could kneel and just let her sit on his—

He held himself together. Just barely. Meeting her gaze, he noticed the hint of a smirk on her lips and grimaced. She was a wolf, enhanced smell and all the other senses. She could probably tell he was horny as a goat on steroids from a mile away.

He was thankful that she didn’t say anything about it, sparing him even more humiliation.

It was then that he noticed the way she ducked her head slightly to sniff at his jacket. Her eyelids fell half-mast as she breathed him in, eyelashes casting heavy shadows on her cheeks in profile. And—

 _Oh_.

Was he not alone in this?

He stumbled to catch up with her, sheathing his sword in his shoulder holster.

“Wait,” he burst out, with no idea of what he was going to say. _‘Hey, wanna stop by this tree here and fuck?’_ did not seem like a good opening line.

And he found, he didn’t particularly want that. Not just yet. Obviously, he wanted it—and if she threw him against that tree and had her way with him, he’d thank her for it.

He just wanted— _something_.

She turned to him; her eyes still that fathomless deep brown, the kind he could get lost in if he wasn’t careful.

He lifted his hand, careful so she’d see him coming, and brushed at the caked blood on her chin with his thumb. She didn’t toss him away from her but he could feel her body stiffen as her gaze met his, a question that went unasked arcing between them.

His thumb grazed upwards to her full lower lip, and he tugged just a bit, the blood there still slightly damp. Her tongue crept out and she licked her mouth, leaving his finger wet. Something stirred inside of him, deep in his belly and fanning out through his whole body.

 _No_. He did not want the usual. Maia was different—had been so from the start. First, Jace was not used to women taking one look at him and trying to kill him. Then there was the fact that she seemed preternaturally unimpressed with him even weeks after that disastrous day they’d met. She didn’t take him and his dumb one-liners seriously at all, and usually in any of their usual banters, she’d best him with rapier-sharp wit or surprise him with little kindnesses.

She was… _different_.

He decided there and then—with her unwavering gaze caught in his, and the sensation that he was on the brink of falling into a very deep, unknown pit—that he didn’t _want_ to be careful.

So he did the sensible, and utterly Jace thing to do in this situation: he let himself tumble.

 

 

# III.

“If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heavens. No more damned magic.”  
**― Jean Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea**

 

 

Maia was unsure how it had happened but soon after The Incident (as she’d come to call it in her head), she had a new regular on her late shifts at the Hunter’s Moon. A blond, stupidly handsome, and far less amusing than he thought he was regular.

He showed up almost like clockwork, just before midnight, sometimes earlier and lurked around until last call.

He didn’t do much but order drinks, tip generously, shoot a game or two of pool or fiddle by the jukebox. Sometimes he’d chat with other patrons, and more than once, he’d flirt with them too. Terrible lines that she could hear all the way from her spot behind bar. Weirdly, none of those potential one-night-stands seemed to go anywhere, he’d always end up at the bar, perched on a stool, nursing a lukewarm beer, waiting for her to finish clean-up. Cracking shitty jokes and poking at her endlessly with one cheeky comment after another until she broke and gave it to him as good as he clearly wanted.

On slower nights, he’d just sit and watch her read her books, peppering her with surprisingly intelligent questions about the ones he’d read (she was vaguely shocked he _could_ read, if she was honest—he’d always come off like the shadowhunter equivalent of a college frat bro) and making fun about all her decidedly ‘romantic’ choices. _Jane Eyre. Lady Chatterly’s Lover. Land of Love and Drowning. Tess of the d’Urbervilles. Lady Boss_ (which she’d read just to throw him off and ended up thoroughly enjoying).

It was unnerving.

Often, she could smell the night he’d had on him, the sour demon ichor that he might as well have taken a shower in, sweat with a dash of woodsy cologne, and occasionally, his own blood piercing through when he’d been injured. Those times, she had to make herself not do something creepy like drag him into the supply room out back and find the wound, lick it closed the way she’d done that night weeks ago.

He’d liked it when she’d done that, she knew. But she was werewolf and he was a _shadowhunter_ , for Christ’s sake. They didn’t need to trade saliva on the regular like that. Or in any way.

It was a pretty normal Thursday night—loads of customers, mundane and not, plenty of good cheer, and some excellent tips.

She waved at Taito and a few other Pack who trundled in around midnight, making sure to set aside a bottle of the good whiskey for them and a bowl of peanuts.

It was a good night. A great night, even. Except—

He hadn’t come by yet. She rolled her eyes at herself for even noticing. For even feeling, like, maybe she _missed_ his noxious presence. (She did not, for the record).

Besides, she had one of her favourites to chat to tonight. Topping the blush pink-orange cocktail with a sparkly blue umbrella and some coloured straws, she turned around to plop it down in front of Magnus.

“There you go, a brand-new special just for you.”

“Ooh, what’s in this?”

“It’s a surprise. But you tell me if it’s good and I might put it on our permanent menu.”

“I do love your spirit for invention, Maia, my dear,” Magnus said as he tipped the glass towards her with a grin. He had seemed subdued all night, his eyes tired, clothes a little more rumpled than he’d usually allow, as though all this war crap was taking its toll.

Maia could deal with a lot of shit but anything that took the glitter out of Magnus Bane needed to die real quick. In lieu of ripping Valentine Morgenstern’s still-beating heart out of his chest—she had to settle for testing all of her new cocktails on her best judge.

Magnus took a sip, brow furrowed as he picked out the ingredients. “Hm, let me see, that’s a bit of mint and thyme, with a dash of cinnamon—very unexpected—vodka, some kind of liqueur….”

He took another sip, “Ah, very nice picking the lighter Curacao, I find Grand Marnier’s too strong for this kind of mix. Perfect finish with the blend of grapefruit, orange and lemon so it’s not too sweet. I love this.”

Maia nodded, impressed. “How do you do that?”

Magnus twiddled his fingers, a swish of pale pink magic hovering in the air as he shrugged. “I’m a warlock who parties—several lifetimes of mixing different things together and you get the hang of distinct ingredients.”

“You’ll have to help me come up with a good name for it.”

He tapped his chin. “Perfect Sunrise, perhaps?”

Maia grimaced. “Too cliché. How about Bloody Sunrise?”

“You, my dear, have a singularly _sick_ mind—and I love it.” Magnus guffawed, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes sparkling with humour. Maia felt a ripple of pride. There were not many people’s opinions she gave a damn about in the world, and Magnus happened to be one of them.

“So, I hear you and the Blond Oaf are getting along well. I did worry, for a moment, that he’d annoy you enough to make you kill him.”

Maia paused for a split-second in the middle of rearranging some newly washed glasses before catching herself. Tipping her left shoulder up, she said, as nonchalant as she could manage even if her tummy was doing embarrassing somersaults just at the mention of that loser, “You know. He’s decent at his job and all that.”

She risked a look at Magnus who was watching her with a raised brow, reading too many of her secrets in a single glance. Slouching, she slammed her cleaning rag on the table and held up a hand. “Please, don’t say it.”

“ _Him_? Really?” Magnus looked incredulous.

“It’s not—anything, seriously,” she muttered, attempting to do some damage control.

“You’re blushing more than that Bloody Sunrise of yours. What’s going on, cherry blossom?”

Maia let out a small smile at the nickname he’d given her back when they’d met a couple years ago and tugged on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “It’s—it’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something, dear.” His voice was warm, and when she looked up, his eyes were soft with knowing but still kind. He could probably relate to her situation given how his own love life panning out with the eldest Lightwood.

Not that she had a _love_ or a _life_ with Jace Wayland. He was just this annoying guy who watched her back sometimes on patrols and—made her laugh, and sometimes looked at her, even in wolf form, as if she was the most mesmerizingly beautiful thing he’d ever seen. That was it.

Taking pity on her, he sighed, “Something about those Lightwoods isn’t there? They’re just so….”

“Surprising,” Maia finished, twisting her mouth in resignation.

Magnus froze, a grin playing on his mouth as his gaze slipped far off as if he was remembering something pleasant. “Yes, exactly that—surprising.”

“Anyway,” she shook her head as she said it, picking up her rag and swiping at the sparkling-clean table for something to do. “It’s not anything with Jace. Can’t be. He’s still stuck on Clary Fray and I’m not getting into the middle of that hot mess—especially now that he knows they’re not siblings.”

“Well, actually, I hear that the two of them have decided to not bother with that. Several weeks ago, in fact.”

Maia stilled. “Really? What, she’s going with Simon?”

Magnus chortled, the only word she could use to describe the absolute glee on his face as he said, “No, shockingly and yet not so much—it’s Isabelle.”

Maia let out a snort and resumed her cleaning, slower this time, dazed. _Clary and Isabelle that— made … a lot of sense, actually_. She had gone for drinks with those two a few times over the last few weeks, “girls nights,” they’d called it. It had been fun if a little strange to be hanging out so socially with shadowhunters, especially one that she'd kind of tried to kill (for reasons of saving the entire downworld) and another whose brother she'd tried to kill. But the two of them were pretty stand-up for the most part, and cute, too.

“Those Lightwoods—they really, they really are….”

“Surprising?” Magnus repeated her words back at her.

“Yeah.”

***

Hours later, after the last stragglers had stumbled out drunk off their minds and she’d brought down the shutters but not locked the door or wiped down the tables, she sat in her favourite booth counting out tips and balancing the cash register. It was an entirely thankless task—except for the nice little pile of tip money that she’d add to her new couch fund—but it had to be done.

Humming along to the sad song floating out from the jukebox, she sorted all the Benjamins, rolled them up and tied them off with an elastic band and then moved on to loose change.

The tinkle of the front doorbell made her pause. She sniffed at the air, and caught the familiar, heady scent. Squeezing her eyes shut, she breathed it in, and said archly, “You’re late.”

He strolled towards her, the smell of him getting stronger with each step until she had to rub her thighs together for a second. _Ridiculous_.

“You missed me?” he shot back, dumping a stool by her table so he could straddle it next to her rather than sit across in the booth. He shrugged his jacket off, and the Henley he was wearing, a pewter-grey, clung to his biceps and triceps like a second skin. The buttons open at the neck showed snatches of dark-inked runes—marks that she had found disturbing months ago before she knew any hunters personally. But that she now found appealing. His hair was all mussy, probably from a fight or two, flopping over his forehead and into his eyes in a way that made him look both young and irritatingly hot.

 _And he knew it_ , too. Which should have been irritating but somehow wasn’t. Maybe repeated exposure had scrambled her brain.

“Hardly. I missed watching you get your ass kicked at pool.”

He took the jibe with a characteristic smirk, tipping his head back with a hint of arrogance so his hair fell away from his eyes. “You should know I let those people win. Have to share my wealth somehow—can’t be this pretty _and_ good at pool.”

“God, you’re awful,” she mumbled, trying not to think about how she had wanted to brush that stray lock of hair out of his eyes herself.

“You like it, though,” he said.

She could’ve come up with a smartass clapback. She could’ve reminded him what a loser he was. She didn’t, instead she said, meeting his eyes in the flashing Christmas lights that hung all around the Hunter’s Moon, “I _do_ , actually.”

Jace didn’t miss the change in tone. He stilled in his seat and watched her right back, his eyes intent. It was unnerving to be the focus of that kind of intensity. It was easy, for a second, to forget that of the two of them she was the natural predator.

Hunters were a kind of predator too. In so many ways, she understood him and he her. Maybe that was why they had this ... _thing_.

Feeling exposed and a little uncomfortable because he hadn’t _said_ _anything back_ —she stood up, start throwing the day’s takings in a bag that she’d sort out in the morning.

His arm shot out hunter-fast, and he gripped her left hand, standing up too. She glanced up at his face—he was taller, not by that much—but enough that she had to tilt back. He tugged on her hand and brought it up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles. Knuckles that probably smelled of Captain Morgan, and limes, and Cointreau, and blood and mud and the night. He seemed to like it, his eyelids shuttered. His lips were soft, too, the gesture itself was so ridiculous and romantic but still capable of sending her heart fluttering.

“I like you too,” he rasped against the skin at her inner wrist, his eyes a night-sky blue with the sparkle of gold in the left. She’d missed when his mouth had gotten there but she couldn’t help whimpering when he pressed a kiss against her delicate veins, this one a little wetter with a nip of teeth. Even the _wolf_ purred deep inside her, scratching at the door to be let out, _to have at him_.

Maia was many things, but tender when it came to fucking wasn’t necessarily one of them—not in a moment like this. When it felt like every part of her was too starved, too ready to _rip_ this boy in front of her to shreds with her teeth and her tongue and her hands.

There’d be loads of time to play _love me tender_ later.

She stepped into him, towing his lips away from her wrist to press against her own. She shoved him into the nearest light-festooned pillar, right in the middle of the Hunter’s Moon, and did her best to climb him.

Jace gasped into her mouth and hefted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist, switching them around so he could push her into the pillar for balance. Then he was kissing his way down her chin, her throat, and sucking hard at the throb of her pulse.

Maia clutched the column behind her and wound her hips in a slow circle, thanked every god she didn’t believe in that she was wearing a skirt today because she could feel the hard line of his cock against her core even through his jeans.

“Ugh, fuck,” Jace grunted and he thrust back at her.

“Yeah,” Maia said back, a hoarse growl to her voice, “let’s do that.”

He nodded, his hands moving frantically to the button of his jeans as he freed himself from his underwear, and shoved her skirt higher up her waist so he could get to her panties—completely impractical and lacy pink and green panties. He looked up at her, brow quirked, and let out a gravelly, “Unexpected.”

“I like pretty things—sue me.”

He looked back down, reaching down with his free hand to toggle the cute little ribbon that held those scraps of lace together. “Trust me; I’m thinking of doing a lot of things to you— _suing_ you isn’t one of them. In fact—.”

He used his shadowhunter speed to rush them to the nearest table, on which he placed her gently and fell to his knees. He notched one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her up, his fingers gripping her thigh hard enough to bruise. One sword-callused thumb reached up to nudge her panties aside, baring her cunt to the empty bar and his greedy gaze.

“Now, this—I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he said like a man who’d been searching for faith in the wilderness and finally found a god.

His breath was so hot against her. Maia threw her head back at the first exploratory swipe of his tongue on her clit. Then he went ahead and _had at it_ —so to speak—savouring every inch of her there was, wrapping his mouth around her lower lips, swirling his tongue across her nub with a speed that was almost unnatural—it probably was, given what he was.

Maia slid back against the table, back arched as she used the heel of her booted foot to drag him in closer. His stubble burned against her inner thighs, she’d be feeling that in the morning.

The sounds falling out of her mouth were the kind she’d deny making in the morning. The _wolf_ as close to the surface as _she_ could get without a full change so she growled, grunted and whined. The loud slurping noises he was making between her legs were even more blush inducing.

His teeth scored her cunt lips, tongue slipping inside her and she seized up, her orgasm hitting her like a bolt of lightning. And when he added first one finger, then two, then three, curling upwards inside her to hit her g-spot with unerring accuracy—that orgasm turned into another, and then another cresting on top of that, all melding together in a white-hot blur as she did her best to strangle the fingers inside her with her core muscles. She was so wet she could feel herself making a mess of the table beneath her.

“Shit-shit- _shit-shit_ , oh, fuck, _yes_ , god.”

“The name’s Jace, actually,” he managed to mumble out against her hip as his fingers fucked her. His right hand snuck up to tug her tank top out the way and grip one of her breasts, squeezing hard enough to make her wince in pleasure.

“Shut up and fuck me, already.”

“As my lady commands,” he groaned back, standing up, the crackle of a condom sachet.

His cock was as pretty as the rest of him, not overly long but thick, flushed and slick at the tip with pre-cum. Before he could slip the condom on, she grasped him by the root, tested the weight and shape of him, and swiped at the head so she could get a taste of him. _A little one_ for now. Later, she’d return the favour (or several favours) he’d just paid her.

Jace watched her bring her fingers up to her mouth and suck on them with a dumbstruck look on his face.

Maia made a show of it; moaning—and indicating clearly that she’d want to have more of that.

He moved as if someone had lit a proverbial fire under his ass then. Sheathing and positioning himself, his tip nosing at her entrance. He looked her in the eyes again, waiting for some kind of sign or signal.

Maia reached up, clasped his chin, his stubble was still damp from earlier. She brought him down to her for an open-mouthed kiss, her tongue tangling with his while he sucked on her top lip. She tasted herself on him. When they both pulled back to gasp for air, she smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t need a second invitation before he was filling her up.

Maia felt the _wolf_ growl inside of her and she made the same sound at the sensation. His girth meant that she could feel the stretch, and she clenched her inner muscles to get used to it.

Jace made a pained sound as though he’d been socked in the gut. She knew the feeling, _god he felt good_. Then he was moving, sleek lunges followed by pistoning thrusts, no rhyme to his rhythm, and so _good_ for the unpredictability of it.

She could already feel herself clamping down on him, muscles contracting uncontrollably—again— _Jesus_.

“Oh, fuck me, you’re so tight—oh fuck, Maia,” he grated out, his tattooed forearms collapsing under the weight of gratification, and he fucked her harder. She craned her head up and sank her teeth into the rune just below his clavicle, hard but not enough to break skin—it was a near thing.

Jace yelped, his hips stuttering wildly as he found his release just as she found hers— _again_. A prickling pleasure that eddied through her body in a wave.

_This had to be some kind of record, right._

The thought flittered through her orgasm-drunk mind and dissolved just as quickly when Jace slumped on top of her, tremors still shaking his body. The weight of him was warm and solid; she tightened her legs around his waist and drew him in closer, nudging her nose into the skin at his neck just underneath his earlobe, tasting the salty sweat there. She couldn’t scent him the way she wanted to—the way the _wolf_ wanted to—but she could nuzzle him, and cuddle him, rub her smell all over him like this just as well. And anyone walking within a mile of him would be able to tell that he was hers.

Minutes later—it could’ve been longer—he pulled out carefully, and shucked the condom. He lifted her up; shuffled to the nearest booth and sat down, keeping her wrapped around him like a human pretzel on his lap as they both tried to breathe.

She leaned back a little to grin. “So, first time with a wolf—and you survived.”

Jace burst out laughing, a happy, sweet sound. “Just barely.” Pushing aside the top of the tank she was wearing, he canted his head down to kiss at her cleavage and just bury his face there _._

“Hm, I guess I’ll have to do something about that.”

His lips traced a pathway up along her neck, the raised scars there, making her shiver and then on to her cheek and finally her mouth. A fond kiss that they both lingered on, before he drew back. “So, in terms of, you know, wolfing out and _clearly_ great sex; how did this rate on a scale of 1 through 10?”

Maia shook her head, and giggled. “You’re an idiot, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I am. But you like me anyway.”

_Yes. Yes, she did._

# \--fin--

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is a gift - like seriously. All three of you that read this, I would really and truly appreciate some kind of feedback. Also. Come join the fun at [Shadowhunters Free-for-all Ficathon Round 2](http://ladygawain.livejournal.com/83816.html)!


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